


wearing your love like medallions

by Aria_Masterson1153



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Man-bun Tkachuk, That's it, bc Chukifin is not complete without our all-knowing diva, face-time cameo appearance by Snacc Eichel, not an au, soft bois wearing soft face-masks, that's the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 07:21:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16383794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aria_Masterson1153/pseuds/Aria_Masterson1153
Summary: Truthfully, Noah's not sure what he expected when he knocked on Matt's door unannounced, but it's definitely not Matt's overgrown hair pulled into a low bun, and a fluorescent green face-mask painted across his skin. Or, the way he beckons Noah into his apartment with a dazzling grin, as if nothing's out of the ordinary.





	wearing your love like medallions

Noah’s waiting outside of Matt’s door, impatiently scuffing his shoe on the dense carpet in the hallway of Matt’s apartment building. He’s already knocked three times, but there’s no answer, which is definitely surprising. Especially considering that Matt just posted a new insta story in his kitchen, which Noah confidently maintains is situated within the four walls of his apartment.

Sighing audibly, he knocks again, with more vigor. “Matt, it’s Hanny!” He calls out loudly, letting his closed fist rap on the door obnoxiously.

He can hear a quiet scuffle behind the door, and then it’s slowly opened, revealing the slouched frame of Matthew Tkachuk. He’s decked out in workout clothes, which is really nothing out of the ordinary, but it’s the whole situation above his shoulders that really captures Noah’s interest.

Because Matt’s overgrown hair is pulled up into a small bun, framed by a tie-dye paisley headband. His sharp intake of breath doesn’t go unnoticed by either of them. Specifically the tell-tale widening of Noah’s eyes.

Because Matt looks good.

It’s as confounding as it is completely predictable, because Noah’s brain would be extremely pressed to find any possibility in which Matt didn’t make his heart stutter painfully.

There’s a tiny little hindrance in the stream of thought regarding Matt’s unquestionable attractiveness, though. It also quite handily explains the reasoning for Matt’s hair being pulled back. There’s a fluorescent green face-mask painted across Matt’s face, contrasting harshly with his tan skin, untouched around his eyes.

“Um, hey,” Noah blurts out awkwardly, unsure if it would be more unnatural to chirp Matt within an inch of his life, or pretend as if nothing’s out of the ordinary.

“Hey dude!” Matt beams happily, his lips pursed stoically to prevent cracking of the mask. His excited wave demonstrates his elation just as effectively as a smile, and he beckons Noah into his apartment. “What’s up?”

So they’re pretending everything’s normal. Alright. Noah can work with that.

“Not much, just wanted to see what you were up to,” he says, aiming for casual, yet the tightness of his voice indicates otherwise.

He follows Matt as he pads back into his kitchen, presumably finishing the task he was working on while ignoring Noah at his front door. Unceremoniously dropping himself into one of the stools at the kitchen island, Noah’s transfixed with staring at Matt as he fixes a fruit and cheese plate for himself. His deft hands carefully slice a nutritionist-approved square of cheese into razor-thin slices, rationing it out on the unnecessarily expensive seed crackers arranged on the serving plate.

Noah wants to snort at the excessiveness of it all, but he’s admittedly a bit too impressed at the presentation to do much else than focus on the way Matt’s tongue darts out as he concentrates.

“So, what’s this, then?” Noah inquires playfully, careful to keep any judgment out of his tone.

“Matt Day,” he proclaims cheerfully, stacking the practically see-through slices of cheese on top of the crackers.

“Huh,” Noah nods to himself as he follows Matt into his living room, attempting to contain his laughter as he watches Matt cautiously balance the platter on his upturned palm.

He’s at least 90% sure that if the platter were to fall, there would definitely be tears. Noah peeks at the still shot on the screen of Matt’s TV, a blurred image of Donkey following Shrek on his quest to reach Princess Fiona.

“Shrek?” Noah questions as he sinks down into the lumpy comfort of Matt’s shitty sofa.

Matt gives a little shrug, and his eyes drop to the coffee table. Noah knows that in conjunction with these little tells, Matt should be blushing under his face mask. The knowledge of it, accompanied with his very well formed mental image of the blush succeed in enhancing his already stupid grin.

“I wasn’t expecting anyone over,” Matt murmurs in an embarrassed tone, but the amusement is unmarred in his blue irises.

“Nah, I mean—Shrek’s a fucking classic, y’know?” Noah’s reassurances come quick, nearly involuntarily.

“Right?” Matt’s smile cracks his mask with the force of it, a pleased little thing that sends Noah’s heart swooping.

All too familiarly, there’s a moment where everything seems to slow around them, the steady rise and fall of Noah’s chest a pacemaker.  _Inhale_ , Matt’s already too vibrant blue irises, heightened by the harsh green of his mask.  _Exhale_ , the way those brilliant blue eyes are trained on him, rattling his chest on each inhale.

_Sharp inhale_.

_Stuttered exhale_.

“I mean, d’you want to do it too?” Matt questions after a minute of their blank silence.

“Do what?” Noah responds distractedly, willing his breath to come naturally under the weight of Matt’s gaze.

“The face-mask, I don’t know, it’s weird with you sitting here without one,” his lips are pursed, his brow slightly raised.

Noah snorts, unable to help himself. “As weird as sitting in your apartment by yourself watching Shrek, while wearing a face-mask?”

“Fuck off, don’t make me smile,” Matt snickers, his face cracking around the clay mask, small bits flaking off onto to his navy dri-fit.

Even looking like a dehydrated ogre, Matt can still manage to steal his breath. It’s unfair, completely unfair.

But, look. Noah’s not going to make this a thing, okay? He’ll be thing-less when it comes to Matthew Tkachuk.

 

\------/------

 

It totally becomes a thing. It’s actually scary how easily it becomes a thing.

Because Noah already has enough trouble trying to keep his eyes off of Matt as is. It’s pretty much accepted at this point. So, when Matt strolls into the locker room the next day, with skin glowing so beautifully that Noah’s eyes physically can’t pry themselves away?

It’s a lot. Like— _a lot_ —a lot.

And if he wasn’t already destroyed, then Matt smiles, and it’s as if Noah’s lungs simply collapse under the influence of his earth-shattering grin. The harsh light in the locker room catches Matt’s cheekbones just  _right_ , and his skin glimmers like diamonds in the radiant ambiance. His cheeks are perfectly shaven, and so soft looking that Noah doesn’t even have to imagine how smooth the skin would feel under his fingertips, stroking softly, worshiping Matt from the outside-in.

“Hey,” Matt sends a smile over at him, like it’s effortless. It probably is, that gorgeous shithead.

His brain lags on a response to Matt’s greeting, far too occupied with visualizing Matt wearing that same low bun, scraping his hair away from his face to showcase his skin in all its glory. He’s seen Matt in a bun  _once_ , and he feels as if he’ll never be able to look at him the same.

“Um, hi,” Noah sputters, weirdly stilted, and bitchslaps his brain for the ridiculous effort.

Matt’s head tilts curiously at Noah’s short reply, but he smiles regardless, settling down beside Noah in a disjointed plop. “You okay, man?” His question is filled with sincerity as he turns to face Noah.

And if he thought Matt’s skin looked good from far away, up close it’s nearly too much. It’s even and glossy, and Noah just can’t avert his eyes. Before, Matt’s eyes and his smile were Noah’s weaknesses, but now he can confidently add this to the list.

“Yeah, I just—your skin looks really good,” Noah stutters obtusely. And if he bitchslapped his brain before? Consider him taking out the bazooka, now.

He expects Matt to laugh, or to look at him funny, but he doesn’t. Noah realistically shouldn’t expect anything less, because Matt’s literally the fucking physical embodiment of sunshine, but still. Noah’s a frazzled mess of emotions and thoughts that are entangled between his heart and his dick.

And, look. Shit’s confusing, okay?

Instead, Matt’s smile softens, but it still doesn’t lessen the glare away from his facial-toned skin. “Yeah? You think so?”

“Duh, Matt,” he rolls his eyes, though his hand still aches to reach out to confirm his thoughts. It takes a surprising amount of willpower to keep it planted against his flexed thigh.

And there’s that blush again, the one he cherishes so dearly, spotting a rosy warmth across Matt’s cheekbones. Of all things, it makes Noah want to laugh; the happiness bubbling through his chest debilitating in its fortitude.

“Wishing you took me up on my offer, then?” Matt cheekily questions with a kinked brow.

Noah considers it for a moment, and then shrugs. “Yeah, actually.”

Matt doesn’t look shocked per se, but his eyes definitely widen as if he wasn’t expecting Noah to relent so easily. “Huh. Well, uh, I had another one planned for this weekend? If you’re down?” His voice is light, high in the way that signifies an out for Noah at any point, as if he believes Noah would ever deny spending any more time with him.

“For sure,” Noah responds quickly, disregarding the last paper-thin shreds of his dignity.

“It’s a date, then,” Matt’s smile is somehow even more dazzling, and the combined attack from his words and that deadly smile make Noah’s stomach clench with unceasing want. “Wait, what’s your skin-type?”

“My—what?” He’s not sure if he hears him correctly, between the mush that Matt’s face in general has turned his brain into.

“Your skin type,” Matt repeats slowly with a fond huff, and then abruptly captures Noah’s chin between his thumb and index finger.

Noah obviously isn’t expecting anything of the sort, and his eyes widen immediately, held captive both by Matt’s grip and his eyes. Fuck, this sudden proximity might just be the thing to push him over the edge.

“Matt?” His question is muffled from the way Matt’s grip squishes his cheeks together.

“Shut up,” he murmurs evenly, peppermint washing over Noah’s face as he speaks. He roughly tilts Noah’s chin to the side, his eyes critical as they glance over Noah’s features.

The closeness of their faces is nearly too much, because it aids his forbidden thoughts, while creating some new ones, too. There’s no way—absolutely no way—that Matt is about to lay one on him in front of their teammates. But… the longer he remains still, the more sense it makes to his mangled brain.

He’s so lost in his own thoughts that he barely notices when Matt’s hand stills over his chin, though his eyes still track over Noah’s face. They’re particularly drawn to Noah’s lips, and Noah shudders at the thought of having to undergo a lip scrub as well. “Um, well?”

Matt jerks imperceptibly at Noah’s words, dropping his hand from Noah’s chin like he’s been burned, or maybe because he knows that Noah was hoping he was going to fucking  _kiss_  him. Either way, he’s forcefully ripped out of his thoughts, looking at Matt for his diagnosis.

“You, uh, definitely have oily skin,” Matt remarks casually, thankfully with none of the awkwardness that Noah was expecting. Over the fact that, y’know, Noah wanted to kiss him, or anything.

“Hey!” Noah exclaims in an offended tone, swatting out a hand that Matt ducks with a bright smile and a small giggle.

“No—no, it’s normal!” Matt snickers as he evades Noah’s bear hug. “I swear, it is! We’ll grab you some stuff for your skin type, it’ll work perfectly!”

“If you say so,” Noah’s unconvinced by all of this, but at least he’s finally wrapped his arms around Matt’s laughing frame, leaning his head onto Matt’s well-muscled shoulder.

And Matt’s not shaking him off, either. He’s there, leaning back against Noah’s head, limiting the space between them until Noah’s not even sure he remembers what it feels like to be away from Matt. And, alright, maybe what they’re doing doesn’t constitute as ‘buddies.’ It’s more of a ‘ _Matt and Noah_ ’ thing, and he’s totally okay with that.

When Matt’s arms curl around him even further, dragging him closer into his body, he pretends to ignore the inquisitive look Lindy shoots them across the locker room.

 

\-----/-----

 

Browsing the face-masks section at Lush is definitely not how Noah predicted his weekend would begin, but he can’t complain too much. Especially with Matt’s uncurbed enthusiasm, grinning exuberantly as he peers at the admittedly witty descriptions scrawled on the side of each pot. So it’s no surprise that Matt’s excitement is magnified tenfold when an employee approaches them with a matching beam to her smile.

Noah’s content to sit back and watch Matt fawn all over the different products, an uncontrollable smile stretching his features as he watches his favourite guy become excited over something as mundane as facial products.

And if he catches the girl glancing off to where her manager is carefully watching their interaction from the back corner of the store, it’s not a big deal. Because Matt believes her excitement is genuine, and that’s all that matters. Matt always assumes the best in others, and Noah doesn’t want to tarnish one of Matt’s best qualities with his own jaded streak.

“We’re actually looking for something for him today,” Matt’s words halt his thoughts, gesturing over to him with a grin in his eyes.

The girl processes Noah’s wholly confused stare with an evident sort of hunger, and he smiles back at her, though it’s definitely strained. Mostly because he knows Matt would practically castrate him for being impolite to someone he just met, because that’s not the  _southern_  way. Still, her lingering gaze is uncomfortable, and his eyes flicker around them in an attempt of deflection, before he eventually shrugs in a fabricated display of ease.

“I have oily skin,” Noah helpfully supplies, glancing over to Matt for confirmation, who is trying—and failing—to stifle his snicker.

“Of course you do!” The girl forces out awkwardly, her lips instantly forming a shocked ‘o’ at her outburst. “I’m sorry, that came out wrong, I didn’t mean—“

“It’s fine,” Matt interrupts her with a smirk, “I’m the one who said it first anyways, right Noah?” He slings a heavy arm around Noah’s shoulders, peering over at him with a small smile.

“Uh, yeah,” Noah responds dumbly as he smiles back at Matt, more out of habit than anything; unable to look away, though his efforts aren’t too fixated to begin with.

“For sure,” the girl’s falsely cheery voice disrupts their moment—if it even  _was_  one to begin with, “I can direct you over here to our products for your skin type,” she says, her grin substantially dimmed from when he last looked at her.

It’s better. It makes the whole process of shopping for something he’s never used a whole lot smoother. Because looking over 15 different types of masks essentially designed to do the same thing is stressful enough without the added intensity of her unnerving smile.

“Which ones do you like?” Matt questions quietly from his side, undercut by the way the girl is mindlessly ranting about the ‘unique’ properties of each mask.

And oh, yeah. That’s a thing, too. Because Matt’s arm hasn’t moved away from his body, only bending to accommodate the way his hand now rests on the centre of Noah’s back, steady as he directs him towards a new display.

“I don’t even know, dude,” Noah breathes out, the warmth of Matt’s hand, solid against his back, failing to erase his anxiety. “There’s like forty of them. Can you just pick for me?”

Matt stares at him for a moment, his brows pursed in thought, before he surely catches the terror eclipsing Noah’s features. “Yeah, of course, no problem,” he speaks reassuringly, lightly rubbing over Noah’s back with his hand. Then, to the girl he calls out, “Imogen, we’ll grab the Mask of Magnamity and Catastrophe Cosmetic, please.”

“Sure!” The girl—Imogen apparently—stumbles over herself to retrieve the masks and follows them to the til.

Noah watches on with a cringe as Matt impulsively picks up other products along the way to the register, including an all-natural deodorant that Noah  _knows_  won’t stand up against their gear. Still, it smells like citrus when Matt shoves it into his face with a grin, and suddenly, Noah doesn’t care so much.

That is, until he sees the final price of their combined items.

“Matt, let me pay for my stuff, don’t be stupid,” he chastises, but can’t deny the fluttering feeling in his chest.

Matt sends him a look that clearly states ‘don’t be stupid yourself,’ while he rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Just let me do this, okay?”

“It’s nice of you, but I can—“

“I know you can,” he interrupts with a smile. “Most people would just say thank you, Noah.”

Realizing his losing battle, Noah sighs. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Matt beams back at him, looking entirely too cheerful for someone who is spending $115 on skin care.

Noah watches on with pursed lips as Matt gleefully swipes his credit card, and signs the receipt with an excited flourish.

“Alright, have a nice day you two!” Imogen waves happily from behind the counter, looking entirely too relieved to see them leave.

“We will, thanks,” Matt answers for the both of them, his hand returning to its designated spot in the middle of Noah’s back, guiding him towards the exit.

And, look, it’s a nice gesture, it really is; Matt choosing to buy his stuff for him. But Noah can’t shake the residual weirdness that settles around him, most likely at the fact that no one apart from his family seems to buy him anything anymore. Probably because he has more than enough money to buy things for himself—and, let’s not mince words; he  _does_ , but it’s nice to be taken care of every now and then.

Especially when it’s Matt who’s doing it.

Still. “You didn’t have to buy all of that stuff for me,” Noah begins as he walks through the door, held open for him by Matt.

“I know I didn’t, I wanted to,” Matt responds just as quick, as if he predicted Noah’s reaction. “It’s only like $100, okay? It’s nothing.”

“Matt, c’mon, my face isn’t worth $115,” he sighs as they trudge through the snow-lined parking lot.

In response to his statement, Matt smacks him with the bag on the side of his thigh, the unforgiving edges of the pots surely bruising his skin. “Your skin’s fucking priceless Hanny,” and then quieter, under his breath he mumbles, “Imogen certainly seemed to think so.”

“Fuck off, she was only trying to secure a sale,” Noah grunts out.

At first, Matt’s response is just to laugh, and shake his head like some all-knowing asshole. “You’re truly one of a kind, Hanny,” he states sarcastically, though his smile is all fond warmth.

 

\-----/-----

 

“Okay, so first you need to exfoliate,” Matt begins once they’re back at his apartment, pushing an exfoliator into Noah’s outstretched hands.

Noah inspects the bottle, searching for instructions, and pouts when he sees none. “So, like, just wash my face normally?”

Matt rolls his eyes affectionately, shaking his head. “C’mon, I’ll show you.”

Which is how they find themselves five minutes later, sharing the sink space as they ‘massage’ (Matt’s words, not his) the exfoliator into their skin. Heeding Matt’s visual cues, he pays closer attention to his t-zone, rubbing it in with soothing circles.

He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t remarkably domestic, the two of them sharing a sink. He can picture it clearly—nearly too clearly—washing their faces together in the morning before making a pre-morning skate smoothie. The ease between them is verging on dangerous, and Noah doesn’t know what to do other than hold on and hope for the best.

“Gently, Hanny,” Matt chides him as he glances over at the way Noah’s been absentmindedly rubbing the cleanser into the sensitive skin under his eyes. “You’ll take off skin if you go too roughly.”

“Right, sorry,” he’s not quite sure as to why he’s apologizing, but it makes Matt quirk a small grin regardless, and that’s all that matters.

“S’okay,” Matt shrugs, smiling through his soapy beard. “Ready to wash it off?”

Washing off the exfoliator brings its own set of complications, unexpected and supremely annoying. First being the fact that it’s not as simple as sticking his face under a shower faucet; he has to perform this weird cupped hand routine that involves practically throwing water at his face before it seeps between the spaces in his fingers.

Matt’s thoroughly entertained, judging by the unrestrained giggles he hears from his side. The knowledge that he has Matt smiling isn’t even enough this time, especially when he can feel his shirt become saturated with water at his failed attempts. The previously lukewarm tap water is beginning to cool against his chest, chilling him even next to furnace that is Matthew Tkachuk.

“Ugh,” Noah groans as he steps away from the sink, feeling his face drip with added water onto the fucking  _swamp_  that was formally his shirt. “Gross.”

There’s that laugh again, only it’s soft, as if he’s laughing  _with_  Noah, and not at. It’s stupid, but the distinction is important to Noah.

“Here, you can borrow one of my shirts,” Matt says softly, as if he’s valiantly attempting to contain his giggles.

“You still have to wash the mask off, right? I’d only do the same thing again,” Noah mutters in resignation. And then, because he’s the epitome of a hockey player, he shrugs and cuts his losses, using his shirt as a towel to mop up the excess water on his face. His next action comes effortless, pulling the damp t-shirt over his head and hanging it on the towel rack to dry.

“Um, yeah, okay,” Matt fumbles slightly with his words as he moves to the side to give Noah access to the towel rack.

“I mean, I can just go without a shirt, that’s probably the best idea,” Noah adds casually, though he belatedly realizes it may not have been the greatest idea.

Because Noah’s shirtless, and within a foot of Matt in his cramped washroom. It’s absolutely nothing similar to being shirtless in the locker room. This is inexplicably _different_ , and he thinks Matt feels it too, with the way his eyes are locked on Noah’s bare chest.

The tension in the room is manifested in the form of a rubber band, pulling and stretching, ready to snap under the weight of the prolonged silence. It’s a stalemate between Matt’s dropped eyes and Noah’s bared chest.  And genuinely, he’s not sure what there is to win as a result of this stalemate, if there even is a prize to begin with.

“Hey, so what’s next?” Noah prompts in a hushed voice, afraid to break the fragile silence of the room more than he already is.

“Um, right,” Matt says slowly, bringing his eyes back up to Noah’s. And there’s something there, some hidden message within his eyes that appeals to Noah, but he just doesn’t know what it’s trying to communicate. He wishes, more than anything, he could understand Matt’s unspoken transmission, but he can’t, so instead he ignores its existence altogether. “The steam trick.”

“The steam trick?” Noah parrots, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I’ll show you,” Matt responds with a grin, and Noah can feel the tension practically melting down the walls of the bathroom, bringing them back to where they once were before their lapse in reality.

Noah follows him back into the kitchen, watching as he pulls out two bowls and two face cloths. Cranking the faucet to its hottest setting, Matt fills each bowl halfway with the hot water, and plops a face cloth into each bowl. “Steam trick,” Matt flourishes at the two bowls with a smirk.

“Wow,” Noah says sarcastically, unable to contain his own grin at Matt’s enthusiasm. “Legendary.”

“Fuck off, you’ll be thanking me when your skin fucking _glows_ ,” Matt chirps right back at him, before wringing out the water and laying the damp cloth on his face. Noah assumes he’s supposed to follow, so he does.

_Four_  times.

On the fifth he just pretends to go along with it after Matt closes his eyes, his skin already feeling over-steamed and sweaty.

“Okay, I think my skin is sufficiently steamed,” Noah proclaims, throwing his cloth back into the water in distaste.

“Yeah?” Matt replies with a grin, his cheeks a perfect pink from the hot steam.

And honestly, Noah can’t complain too much with this visual in front of him.

“Yeah,” Noah confirms with an impudent smile. “How’s it looking?” he asks, tilting his head to catch the light the same way Matt’s cheeks have done all morning.

“Lookin’ good, man,” he appraises with a nod. “It’ll look even better after the mask, c’mon,” Matt beckons, walking down his hallway.

Then they’re back in the washroom; Noah’s still shirtless, and Matt’s still smiling as if there’s no place he’d rather be. Even though realistically nothing has changed since the last time he was in the washroom, Noah can feel his breath come easier, his shoulders a little less locked.

In his hand he has this weird little silicon paint brush looking thing that supposedly applies the thick, pastel rose coloured concoction contained within the Lush pot. He turns it over in his hand, staring at it curiously.

“Which one do you want?” Matt’s voice comes suddenly from his side, interrupting his perplexing thoughts.

In his hands he holds up two different head bands, the tie-dye paisley Matt previously wore, and another watercolour-themed headband. His choice is a no-brainer, immediately selecting the watercolour-painted headband, just to see Matt back in that paisley headband he loved so much.

“I don’t think I need this as much as you do,” Noah chuckles quietly, running a hand through his newly-sheared locks.

“Still though, it’s the  _aesthetic_  of it,” Matt emphasizes, tossing the headband over to Noah.

Noah, because he’s helpless to Matt’s demands, slides the headband over his head, feeling his hair stick up in clumps from the gel he applied earlier that morning. “I feel like I look insane,” he mutters while attempting to smooth down the flyaway tufts.

“Don’t worry, you look fine,” Matt reassures as he twists his hair back into that same low bun. “Count your blessings, at least you don’t have to tie your hair back.”

“I like it though,” Noah’s quick to respond, despite his dignity’s best efforts. “It suits you.”

Matt ducks his head down under the way his arms wind around the back of his head, gathering his hair into the small bun. It’s enough to send one heart-stopping smile at Noah, small and pleased. “You think? Maybe I’ll throw it in with a pre-game look every now and then,” he ponders out loud, shrugging.

“Yeah you should—do that… that would be good,” Noah responds unthinkingly, not even considering the future ramifications of Matt in a well-fitted suit  _and_  that same low bun.

“Maybe I will,” and that’s definitely not a note of flirtation, is it? The cramped space of the washroom is fucking with his mind again, reassuring him of things he truly has no business thinking about.

They’re quiet for a moment, immersed in their thoughts, before Matt breaks it with a soft chuckle, gesturing down to the silicon brush-thingy. “You gonna do anything with that?”

Noah wants to snark back in the way Matt’s surely expecting, but he finds that he can’t, instead turning the brush over in his hand. “I just—I don’t know how to use it?” His eyes flicker over to Matt, who’s leaning against the toilet.

“Useless,” Matt snorts, flipping the lid on the toilet seat, beckoning him over. “Here, sit down, I’ll do it for you.”

Noah’s genuinely unsure the lid of the toilet seat is sturdy enough for his weight, yet despite a worrying creak it maintains all 205 pounds of his frame. He watches in a nearly subconscious state as Matt drops to his own knees, worming his way into the ‘v’ created by Noah’s spread legs.

This definitely isn’t buddies. He’s not even sure this counts as  _Matt and Noah_  at this point, either.

Because Matt reaches out softly, nearly delicately, to capture Noah’s chin within his grasp, so much gentler than the way he did before practice only days ago. Maybe Matt knows they’re crossing the line of buddies, too.

Noah’s not too sure what he’s to do with that knowledge.

“Close your eyes,” Matt murmurs softly, so quietly that Noah wouldn’t even believe he uttered the words, except there’s a sort of amused half-smirk quirking his lips at Noah’s blank stare.

So, of course, he closes his eyes. But then it’s even more intense, because he can’t  _see_  Matt, can’t predict what he’ll do next based on his facial expressions or body gestures. It’s inexplicable, this loss of control in the face of someone he’s normally so comfortable, yet so cautious around. But it’s  _Matt_ , and off the ice, he couldn’t hurt a fly. For better or worse, he trusts Matt wholeheartedly.

He feels Matt adjust closer to him, the warm mint of his breath washing over Noah’s face in calming waves, laced with a tranquility that hits him unexpectedly. He’s so relaxed that when the first cool swipes of the mask come across his skin, he jumps slightly.

“Fucker,” Noah breathes out with a small smile. “‘S cold.”

“My bad, forgot to tell you, it’s a bit cool,” he can practically hear the grin in Matt’s tone, and it really doesn’t do much to dampen his own.

“You forgot,” Noah repeats drily, pursing his lips to contain the smile threatening to peek out. “Uh-huh.”

Matt works methodically, sweeping the mask down Noah’s cheeks and around his jaw with gentle strokes.

“Pretty in pink,” Matt sing-songs airily as he smoothes the face mask down on Noah’s chin.

Noah’s glad his cheeks are covered, because he can definitely feel them heat of their own volition as Matt applies the cool mask.

“Yeah?” Is what escapes his mouth, working independently of the brain power that is being dedicated to controlling his blush.

“Yeah, ‘course,” Matt responds softly, and there’s a breathless quality to it that pulls and twists a wide grin across Noah’s features.

His eyes open, partially because he wants them to, but more prominently because he can’t help it; a knee-jerk reaction to Matt’s affirmation. Matt clearly isn’t paying attention to the top half of Noah’s face, because Noah can watch him work for a few uninterrupted seconds, his tongue stuck out slightly as he focuses on the task at hand.

Noah, not for lack of trying, can’t contain his smile at watching Matt so intensely concentrated at putting a fucking face mask on him, of all things, and a little spurt of laughter bubbles out of him. Matt’s eyes flicker back up to Noah’s, narrowing accordingly when he notices that Noah’s eyes aren’t shut.

“Sorry,” Noah apologizes preemptively, already predicting Matt’s reprimand.

“I told you to keep your eyes shut,” Matt says with a raised brow, tutting audibly. “And stop smiling, you’re gonna crack the mask,” he mutters as Noah obediently shuts his eyes again.

“I’ll stop when you stop,” Noah volleys back brazenly.

“Shut up, I’m not smiling,” Matt says, with the vocal equivalent of a smile. Noah’s curious as to how he knows that, but. He knows when to cut his losses, and his scarily comprehensive knowledge of Matthew Tkachuk? That’s a battle that was lost eons ago.

“Uh-huh,” he sounds out through his pursed lips.

“Okay,” Matt mumbles to himself while tilting Noah’s face up from under his chin. “I just have to do your nose, and then you’re all set.”

Obviously Noah takes this as a cue to open his eyes again, and they immediately go crossed at the sight of the brush in line with the ridge of his nose. He doesn’t flinch away, but it’s definitely a near thing.

“Woah,” he can’t help but breathe out, blinking at the sight of the brush so close to his face.

When Matt realizes Noah’s opened his eyes yet again, he groans out loud, his hand retracting back from Noah’s face. “You’re such a shit. The biggest of shits,” he huffs out melodramatically.

“It’s taking too long,” Noah whines, matching Matt’s same level of drama in his voice.

“And whose fault is that?” Matt sasses back. “You know what, fuck it, keep your eyes open then, I can work under pressure,” he mutters as he grips Noah’s chin again, resolutely not meeting Noah’s eyes as he gets to work on Noah’s nose.

Matt gets two solid swipes in before Noah’s mischievous side wins out. It’s manifested in a distinct need to fuck with the normally composed Matt; he sticks his tongue out, licking along Matt’s wrist, conveniently placed right in front of his mouth.

Matt’s hand, predictably, jumps back, and his face screws with disgust. It only fuels Noah’s roaring laughter, to the point where he’s bent at the waist with the force of it.

“Nope, nope, you’re so fucking done, oh my god,” Matt forces out in disbelief, wiping his wrist on his shorts. “Begone you foul gremlin, go set up netflix or something, jesus.”

“You sure you’ll be okay while I’m gone?” Noah tests as he brushes by Matt, their muscled chests catching as he attempts to maneuver through the cramped washroom.

“Oh, I fucking  _know_  so,” Matt’s response is razor-quick, though his reluctant smile smooths over the rough edges of his words. “Watch, it’ll take me like 5 minutes to do it without your distracting ass.”

 

\-----/-----

 

True to his word, Matt emerges from his washroom two minutes later, scoffing at Noah’s boneless body slouched across the sofa.

“Guess I’ve got to do everything myself around here,” Matt mutters to himself as he disappears into the kitchen.

And Noah, despite what Matt probably thinks of him at the moment, isn’t a complete idiot, so when Matt comes back into the living room with two gatorades, he already has Beetlejuice set up on Netflix.

“Huh, obscure, nice choice,” Matt nods approvingly when he sees what’s queued up, setting a gatorade in front of Noah.

Because Matt’s an absolute angel, he slides over the lemon-lime gatorade to Noah, his favourite flavour. Though Noah’s brows furrow when he sees the metal straw poking out from his bottle as well as Matt’s.

“Straws?” He laughs lightly, gesturing down at their gatorades.

“Trust me on that one,” Matt responds with an exaggerated shiver. “Gatorade spilled on top of face masks is the epitome of death.”

“Speaking from experience, or?” Noah pushes slyly, evidently knowing the answer to his own question.

“You know what?” Matt spits out, wagging his finger at Noah. “You’re such a fucking tool, oh my god.” He punctuates his statement with a blunt slap to the back of Noah’s head which still stings despite the fact that Matt is definitely holding back on him.

The fact that Matt and Brady both survived their childhood without  _too_  many scars is genuinely a miracle. And of course he doesn’t believe Matt’s impassioned story of how he burned off Brady’s eyebrows when they were kids, permanently stunting their growth; but he can very readily understand that Matt has definitely thought about it before.

“A ‘fucking tool’ wouldn’t be sitting in your apartment feeling like his face is setting into fucking stone,” Noah counters, already feeling the mask beginning to set, limiting the use of his facial muscles.

“True,” Matt concedes, shrugging. “But quit being a bitch, it’ll only be on for like 30 minutes,” he says as he sets an alarm on his phone. “The trick to masks is to go 10 minutes over the prescribed time, but no more than that.”

“I love how you’re explaining this like I’ll actually do it on my own,” Noah laughs in disbelief. He’s already beginning to regret this, so to find the will to do it on his own? It’s laughable, completely laughable.

“See, it’s times like these when I forget how hopeless you are, making your poor mom come out to A2 only to do your laundry and meal prep like a fucking loser,” Matt chirps with a toothy smile, enjoying Noah’s evident embarrassment.

“It’s not like it was that far from Norwood, shut up,” Noah mutters, his cheeks a red that is forged completely from heat, disregarding the fact that the 12 hour drive from Norwood to Ann Arbor was no easy feat.

Judging by Matt’s insufferable smirk, he knows it too. “Still though, your dumbass has a point,” Matt acknowledges reluctantly. “You can just do them with me, no worries.”

His words are thrown out casually, as if he doesn’t understand how much Noah _cherishes_  being in his presence. Noah’s sure his own forced sense of calm does not at all compliment Matt’s easy-going nature.

“I don’t want to crash your ‘Matt Day’ again,” he trails off, unsure in his words.

“Nah, we can make it, like, a ‘Matt and Noah’ day, or something,” he says with a nonchalant shrug, but Noah can see the way his words are complimented by his angelic smile, toothy and absolutely stunning.

“Matt and Noah Day,” Noah repeats unthinkingly, certain that his evident hard-on for Matt is exemplified through his tone and his features, no doubt softened by devotion. “I like the sound of that.”

His words escape without thought, but he’s rewarded when Matt’s smile brightens even further, into something completely overwhelming.

“Same,” Matt agrees cheerfully, sending Noah a little private smile to commemorate something, though Noah’s not sure as to what it actually is.

Because Noah’s a complete slut for Matt’s smile, he can’t help but reciprocate. Until, “Ow,” he groans, feeling the mask crack, pulling out some of his peach fuzz with it.

“Right? Now you understand,” Matt laughs, leaning over to grab the TV remote. “Beauty is pain, buddy.”

“Just play the fucking movie, holy shit,” Noah hisses bitterly, swerving Matt’s philosophical psycho-babble like it’s his only mission in life.

 

\-----/-----

 

If Noah thought he was a fan of Beetlejuice, then consider Matt a super-fan. Through the restriction of their face-masks, he still finds it within himself to quote every line he knows, even joining Noah for a little back and forth, alternating lines.

Unsurprisingly, Matt makes a really good Beetlejuice. Like, scarily good. His fluorescent green face-mask adds another layer of depth to his performance, and he perfectly complements Noah’s giggling portrayal of Lydia Deetz. Noah’s not sure how he picked the short straw on that one, but watching Matt attempt to speak in the same tone as Michael Keaton is just too entertaining to put up much of a fight.

Especially when the dinner scene comes on, with Matt performing an intense rendition of the dance routine. He’s already vacated his spot beside Noah on the couch, instead taking to strutting around the living room while salsaing to the beat of the banana song.

He still hasn’t spotted Noah stealthily recording him from his position on the couch; or maybe he has, because his hips thrust obnoxiously as he shakes his ass right in Noah’s line of sight.

“Work it, work it!” Noah calls out from behind the camera, cheering him on as he begins to horribly grind against his wall while Beetlejuice terrorizes the Deetz family.

Focusing in on the zoom on his camera, he jumps back in shock when he sees Jack’s name across his phone screen, indicating a face-time call.

“Hey, uh, Jack wants to facetime, should I answer?” Noah questions unsurely, not wanting to interrupt the very first Matt and Noah Day, but also knowing what a terror Jack becomes when ignored.

Matt must know it too, because he ceases his jerking dance moves, shrugging easily. “Yeah, no worries.”

Noah pastes a grin on his face at the reaction he’ll receive at his mask-covered face, and accepts the call. “Hey buddy,” he beams down at his screen, laughing as Jack’s face cycles through an exorbitant amount of emotions.

Jack’s expression finally settles somewhere in the realm of exasperation, scrubbing a hand over his face in disappointment. “Noah,” he sighs out, and that’s when Noah knows it’s serious. “What the actual fuck, man?”

“It’s only a face-mask, nothing serious,” Noah reassures, though he is enjoying the way Jack’s eyes can’t stay focused on one aspect of him for too long; bouncing between the headband and his rose-covered face in rapid succession.

Until he settles his eyes back on Noah’s, the disbelief clear in his irises. “I wish this was the stupidest shit I’ve ever seen you do,” Jack sighs, kneading his hand over his jaw in incredulity.

Still, it doesn’t do anything to deter Noah’s beaming grin, magnified as he watches over his iPhone as Matt ambles towards him.

“Hey Eichs, what’s up?” He calls out loudly, a large smile accompanying his words even though Jack can’t actually see him. And if that unadulterated happiness doesn’t perfectly describe Matt, he doesn’t know what will.

Jack’s mouth forms into a small ‘o’ for a moment at hearing Matt speak, before it morphs into a devious smirk. “Oh,  _hey Chuky_ ,“ he drawls out unhurriedly, levelling Noah with a look that is unmistakable in its message.  _You’re so fucked_.

Noah’s also performing unspoken communication of his own, pleading with his eyes to dissuade Jack from whatever meddling plan he’s constructed within his chaotic mind. Because Noah’s seen Jack at work—multiple times in fact— and he knows how easily his plans tend to blow up in his face.

“Hanny, you want anything? I’m gonna grab a snack,” Matt’s words halt their mental warfare, nodding his head towards the kitchen to give them some privacy.

Noah nods back, but makes the mistake of glancing down at his phone, where Jack is obnoxiously finger-fucking a hole made from his index finger and thumb.

Holy  _fuck_.

Jack’s mouthing  _Matt_  wantonly as he does it, which alights Noah’s fury quicker than anything else. Thankfully Matt’s not privy to this disgusting one-man show, but Noah unfortunately is.

And, well, one person subjected to this is fucking enough.

“Shut the fuck up,” he hisses furiously down at his phone, his skin lit ablaze at Jack’s unabashed silent moans.

“What?”

It’s Matt who says it, and when Noah looks back up at him, he’s pouting. And from what he remembers from earlier, facial expressions fucking  _hurt_  right now, so he puts an end to it as quick as he can.

“Oh, um, it was towards this jackass, not you, don’t worry,” Noah reassures with a soft smile, gesturing at his phone, where Jack is still carrying on with his silent porn-star expressions.

“Oh, okay!” And just like that, his cheerful smile returns with staggering force, stealing Noah’s breath from him like it’s no small feat. “I’ll grab you some of those kale chips you like!” Matt calls out as he disappears into his kitchen.

Noah’s lucky that Matt can’t see him wince, because he despises kale chips with something fierce. But, as it keeps being proven, he’s weak for Matt’s smile. And the wide, hopeful smile Matt unleashed as he raised a bag of kale chips that he was _sure_ Noah would love?

Doesn’t take a genius to figure out the ending for that, either.

He finally glances back down at his phone with a frown, levelling Jack with an annoyed glare.

“Don’t fuck this up for me,” Noah quietly threatens when he’s sure Matt has left the room. “I’m serious.”

“Fuck up  _what_ , exactly?” Jack questions with a laugh, so loud that Noah’s forced to turn down his speaker volume for fear of Matt hearing his obnoxious best friend. “As far as I can see, you’re in the exact same position you were in months ago: mooning over that fucking dumbass while he waxes poetic about fucking ‘How to Train your Dragon,’ or some shit.”

Look. It’s not Noah’s fault that Jack has the absolute worst timing, and consistently catches them in the middle of doing stupid shit.

“That was one time,” Noah sighs.

“Whatever,” Jack huffs with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Point is, nothing’s  _changed_. I don’t know how you expect anything to happen when all you do is complain that it’s not. You gotta take some initiative, dude,” Jack presses encouragingly. “I know for a fact he wants on your dick nearly as much as you do on his, so just make a fucking move already and put all of us out of our misery.”

Jack’s words are dangerous, because he sounds so self-assured of his statement, and that brings forth a blossoming hope through Noah’s chest that he so does not need right now. In fact, he doesn’t need  _ever_ , this tempting beacon of hope signifying that he may not be alone in this.

No matter how alluring, it’s something he needs to put an end to, regardless of how it indisputably heats his chest. “Jack. Just—drop it, okay? Please?”

He can detect the defeat in his own voice, so it’s no surprise that Jack’s expression drops at his tone. “Sorry,” the rare words are spoken at him softly, Jack’s eyes averted to his lap. “I just— I want you to be happy, okay? That’s all I want, I didn’t mean to push.”

“S’okay,” Noah murmurs back, chewing on his lip and wincing once it pulls at the face mask.

“But anyways!” Jack interjects a forced cheerful note into his tone, and it’s the final reassurance that the topic of conversation is well and truly closed. “How did Chuky manage to convince you to put that thing on?”

“The face mask?” Noah confirms, latching onto the change in conversation nearly desperately. “It actually didn’t take too much convincing, I wanted to see if it made my skin look good.”

Jack laughs, all genuine amusement, and it smothers the anxiety in Noah’s chest. “You literally had the best skin out of our draft year, fuck off with that bullshit,” he states as he aggressively points to where his own forehead is still spotted with blemishes.

“Never settle for less, John,” Noah says with a smirk, knowing just how fired up the use of his first name makes Jack.

“Okay first, go fuck yourself,” Jack begins, showing Noah the accompanying finger to his statement, “and second: you’re one to talk about settling—” though he cuts himself off midway through his sentence, which is an even rarer occurrence, “wait, never mind, I promised I’d drop it.”

“Rude,” Noah admonishes, “sounds like you’re just jealous that my skin is gonna look better than yours.”

“I’ve already accepted that,” Jack waves the idea off. “But still, there’s something to be said for a shining personality over your ‘pretty skin.’”

“Pretty skin?” Noah repeats with a raised brow as his eyes track Matt sauntering back into the living room with an armful of snacks. Matt meets his eyes with a grin and a half formed thumbs up in response, his hand partially covered by the nutritionist-approved bag of kale chips.

“The prettiest of skin,” Jack confirms sarcastically, his eyes going faux lovey-dovey once again.

He spies Matt sinking back into the space beside him on the couch. And Noah, for own his sanity, decides to cut the call short. One of them at a time is bad enough, but both of them at once? It’s a recipe for disaster, especially with the way Jack was eyeing Matt.

“Dude, I think you’re starting to buffer, I can’t really see you,” he lies without remorse.

Jack, because he’s  _Jack_ , immediately calls bullshit. “That’s funny, the video feed is  _fine_  on my end.” There’s a passive aggressive threat laced somewhere in that sentence, Noah’s sure of it, but he acknowledges its presence and ignores it dutifully.

“Nah, I can’t see you right now dude, maybe I’ll call you later tonight, or something,” he responds in faux sincerity.

And that’s what must do it for Jack, because his eyes narrow on the other end in suspicion. “Noah don’t you fucking dare, I swear to god—“

The rest of his threat is cut off when Noah hangs up on him, but Noah can surely predict the ending to his statement. He’s heard it all before. And if Jack comes up with any new material, he’ll be sure to let Noah know through his hostile texts later on that night.

There’s a quiet snort to his left, and it’s Matt, crusty face mask and all, smirking at Noah conspiratorially while nudging him with his elbow. “Bad connection, huh?”

“The worst,” Noah replies with the same smirk, feeling it tug at the nearly dry clay on his skin.

They’re quiet for a moment, watching the movie to cut through the silence. Noah’s just getting back into the cheesy 80’s special effects when Matt clears his throat.

“Hey, with what Eichs was saying about your skin, I always think you’re pretty, face masks or not,” Matt’s words are confident, unexpectedly so. “I thought the face masks were a fun idea, but I promise it wasn’t because I thought your skin was bad, or anything.”

Noah’s brain lags for a moment, stalled at the words that just came out of Matt’s mouth. Because Matt, his best pal, the other half of Matt and Noah Day, just called him pretty, and he doesn’t know how the  _fuck_  he’s expected to reply without all of his feelings rushing out in a tangled heap.

“Oh, uh, thanks,” Noah stammers out, desperately attempting for casual. “You too, y’know— pretty skin,” he can’t help but add on stupidly, shattering any sort of forced calm in the unrelenting shine of Matt’s bright eyes.

He can readily see the magnitude of the smile that stretches across Matt’s face, purely in the way his smile lines crack through the green clay with ferocious efficiency. Matt doesn’t say anything, but his smile speaks volumes, at least to Noah. It’s unrestrained in its happiness, a beautiful miracle normally hidden due to unfounded insecurities with his teeth.

But there’s no way he doesn’t know. That’s he’s not just ‘pretty.’ To Noah, Matt’s infinitely more than pretty. He’s  _it_ ; everything Noah could ever want. Everything Noah  _does_  want.

Staring at his lap only encourages these thoughts to insurmountable levels, so he glances up to give his mind something else to focus on. Immediately, he wishes he didn’t. Wishes he existed in his previously innocent state of mind. Because Matt’s right in front of him, close enough that Noah can see the flecks of the mask that have peeled off and now rest on the very top layer that’s exposed to the air.

They’re the same distance apart as in Matt’s washroom, yet it isn’t forced due to the confined space. Here, it’s because Matt  _chose_  to be this close to Noah, which incites a perilous stream of thought. It fans the flame of his misplaced longing until the heat of Matt’s gaze melts Noah down, like a candle held too close to his hope-fueled bonfire.

“Noah?” Matt whispers, and Noah feels his breath tickle against his lips. All he can think is that one more inch forward he’d be  _there_ , pressed against Matt in the way he can only wish for.

And then, suddenly, he is.

He doesn’t know which of them finally closes the distance, or if there was any distance  _to_  close. All he knows is the grounding press of Matt’s body into his, leaning him back into the hard arm of the couch with a silent certainty. Matt’s hand delicately cradles the nape of Noah’s neck, while his plush lips carry out an incapacitating assault of gentle brushes against Noah’s relenting mouth.

It’s tender. That’s what strikes Noah the most.

Where he thought Matt would be quick and conquering, he’s slow — _warm_ — sliding past the seam of their lips with practiced ease. Noah reaches a hand onto Matt’s extended arm, spindling up the flexed muscle with a caress that reaches its way up to the sensitive skin under Matt’s jaw. It’s all he can do at this point; hold on.

There’s an audible sigh, and he’s unsure from whom it comes from, but in reality, it doesn’t matter. Because all it does is confirm that this is  _right_ , reflected in the way Matt meticulously takes him apart: with a gentle tilt of his head, or a teasing grind of his hips. Or with Noah, in the way he strains his neck to compliment Matt’s actions, giving him  _everything_ , should he choose to accept it.

And Matt, he takes. Possesses over his body so thoroughly that Noah intrinsically knows he’s ruined from here on out. Matt’s just too perfect, too efficiently ruthless in his command over Noah’s body.

Matt fits an assured hand over his cheek, stroking smoothly in time with the drugging sweeps he lulls Noah into, until reality begins to seep back in, ever so slowly.

It begins with Matt’s thumb, sinking into his skin with a little more pressure, until he feels something being pushed across his face. For a hazy moment, he foolishly assumes that Matt’s pushed his skin off his face, until he remembers it’s only the fucking face masks. Matt realizes it too, because Noah can feel him smile into the kiss, dissolving it into sporadic catches of their lips, unwillingly lightening it to the point where their previously smooth rhythm is a distant memory.

But this, too, is nice. Sweet. He’s helpless to his own reciprocating smile at the ridiculousness of it all. Their faces are fucking sticking together with the still-tacky face masks and it should be disgusting. It  _is_  disgusting.

But it’s also the safest he’s felt this close to another person. Which is truthfully no surprise.

Because this is Matt, cupping his cheeks with the same hands that never fail to get the home crowd on their feet. It’s the same lips that curve into a grin when Noah does something stupid, or when Matt looks at him all soft, as if he can’t help but be fond of him. It’s Matt; always has _been_  Matt, his body both extremely familiar and wondrously new against Noah’s.

Matt finally leans back as Noah chases his lips, tilting his head up even further. He’s donning this small, private grin that Noah’s mind immediately snatches as his own. Matt’s only inches above him, smiling at him like Noah hung the fucking Sun.  

His eyes glance back down at Noah’s swollen lips, and he releases a delighted little chuckle. “Your face looks like a fucking care bear right now,” he snorts, referring to the lime green of Matt’s face-mask, smeared around Noah’s mouth.

“Your face looks happy,” Noah remarks candidly.

Matt takes a moment to consider Noah’s words, and then his smile turns into something different, a surprisingly undecipherable look to Noah’s watchful eyes. “I am,” he breathes affectionately, leaning down for another quick, smiling peck.

Then suddenly Matt is off of him just as quick as he came, leaving Noah’s front cold at the lack of body warmth. Noah’s final push through his mental haze is immediate, akin to submerging his brain in a bucket of ice cold water. Dazedly, he raises himself off the couch, sinking back into his spot.

“Holy fuck,” he whispers to himself helplessly, running a rough hand through his hair as he attempts to process what the fuck just happened.

Matt, who is pretending to watch the movie, spies Noah out of the corner of his eye with the same shit-disturbing smirk Noah’s seen far too many times to not be able to recognize.

So they’re just not going to talk about this? The fact that Matt just kissed Noah so thoroughly that he melted the thoughts right out of his overactive mind? Fine. No problem. Noah can sweep it under the rug if that’s what Matt really wants.

(In reality, he barely lasts a minute before the silence becomes too deafening.)

“So, you just kissed me,” Noah states in a bewildered tone, his eyes surely as wide as saucers.

“I did,” Matt confirms with that all-too-familiar infuriatingly gorgeous smile, turning his head fully to look back at Noah.

“Okay,” he nods to himself, accepting Matt’s surprisingly easy confirmation. “ _Why_  did you kiss me?”

“As far as I know, you kind of do those on dates, to show the person how much you care about them?” Matt comments in a sarcastic tone, though his eyes are deep with endearment. “Not quite sure, though.”

Predictably, the statement shatters Noah’s brain into a thousand equally stupid pieces. “We’re— what? A date? You’re telling me this entire time, we’ve been on a date?”

His statement seems to have the same effect on Matt, who looks confused before settling on the same disoriented look that Jack previously directed at him. “You— you didn’t know?” Matt stutters in his own version of stupefied disbelief. “What even, Noah?”

“How was I supposed to know? You never said anything!”

“I think the whole ‘it’s a date, then,’ thing kinda refutes that pretty well, don’t you think?” Matt’s attempting for patience, but he can’t quite erase the incredulity from his expression. “I told you my steam trick, I thought it was obvious!”

“I thought you were joking!” Noah exclaims in an outraged tone.

“Joking?” Matt repeats in a bewildered tone. “I literally—I bought you everything at Lush!”

“I told you not to!” Noah’s haste to add, too proud to give in.

“Because that’s what you do, when  _you’re on a date_!” Matt continues on, his voice rising considerably, and Noah wants to laugh at the predictable quick spark of his temper, but there’s another thought occupying his mind.

“At Lush—you were jealous, weren’t you?” Noah can feel his smirk threatening to crack through his mask, but for once, he’s unconcerned about the annoying tugging, more interested in the way Matt’s eyes immediately avert to his lap.

“I wasn’t,” he mumbles unconvincingly, the fire extinguishing from his frame, and Noah snickers gleefully.

“You were, you  _so_  were,” Noah smirks in triumph as he pushes Matt back into the sofa, covering Matt’s body with his own. “I’m sorry I made you jealous,” Noah tries to murmur seriously, but his uncontrollable smile is unshakable, even corralling a reluctant one from Matt.

“I don’t why I was; you’re literally such a fucking idiot, I don’t even know why I’m into you,” Matt sighs, all put-upon, though his eyes and smile contain the warmth and tenderness his words sorely lack.

“Probably the same reason I’m into you, can’t help it,” Noah smiles back down at him, stroking a gentle fingertip down his cheek.

“Oh my god, shut up,” Matt whispers dramatically as he tugs Noah back down into the warmth of his body.

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  Can you tell?? This is extremely indulgent??? bc you'd be right!!! :):):):)  
>   
> Regardless, I hope you enjoyed this hot mess!! <333 Come scream about Chukifin with me on [Tumblr!](https://fluorinetungsten.tumblr.com/)  
> 


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